Kate had never forgotten what it had felt like to step foot into Castle's home for the first time - the wide-open living space, the high ceilings, the luxurious yet understated decor.

The loft paled in comparison to Victoria Van Houten's Park Avenue apartment. A whole wall of floor-to-ceiling windows bathed the two-level space with light, overlooking from its 24th-story height the bustle of the city below and the sprawling greenery of Central Park just a couple of blocks away. A spiral staircase led up to the balcony that opened into the second floor, and pale October sunlight glinted off the polished antique wood floors.

And in the middle of this beautiful, shiny surface lay Victoria Van Houten, straight blonde hair fanned out around her head like a halo. It would almost appear as if she were sleeping, porcelain skin and rose-tinted cheeks, were it not for the gunshot wound marring the middle of her chest - a vicious red stain against the cream silk of her robe - and the lake of thick, dark, coagulating blood pooling beneath her. Her hands lay curved around her protruding belly as if trying to protect the life nestled within until her last breath.

Nausea climbed up Kate's throat, her breathing feeling labored and her vision blurring. She'd hoped she was mostly past the bouts of morning sickness by now. She blinked, but the image of the gunshot wound on the pregnant woman that matched the scar between her breasts seemed seared to her retinas. Kate pressed a palm over her midsection, trying to breathe through it, in and out.

"Kate…" Castle murmured, his voice low enough that only she would hear. He placed his hand on her lower back, and she turned to him, found understanding in his eyes.

"It'll be okay," he reassured her, and she nodded, felt the warmth of his presence and his calmness settling over her.

"Beckett, you okay?"

She startled at Ryan's voice but found her focus. She nodded. "What do we have?"

"Victim is Victoria Van Houten, 34 years old, married, daughter of real estate mogul and shipping magnate Victor Van Houten and his wife Merel. One twin brother, Sander Van Houten. Husband's name is Luciano DeLuca," Ryan pointed his pen in the direction of the left wing of the apartment where a man sat hunched over on a sofa. He wore sneakers and workout shorts, and the front of his shirt, his hands, his knees were splattered with blood.

"29 years old, actor in diverse commercials, one-line TV appearances and off-off-Broadway plays. Says he found the vic like this when he came back home from his run at around eight-thirty a.m. Tried to do CPR when he found her, which would explain her blood all over him."

They stepped up next to the victim where Lanie was performing her initial assessment. Castle hovered near Kate, his presence calming her frayed nerves and the lingering sense of nausea.

Lanie looked up, compassion in the warm, brown eyes. Kate met her gaze, pleading wordlessly, not here Lanie, not now, and her friend understood, focused on her clipboard as she started ticking off her notes while pointing at the victim.

"Lividity indicates that the victim died between six and eight this morning. A couple of cracked ribs support the husband's claim that he did CPR. So do the EMTs that arrived first on the scene. Said they found him hunched over her body, hands pressed to her chest."

"Why were the EMTs first?"

"Husband called 911, requested an ambulance. They didn't have an indication that she was already dead. According to their statement, the husband hoped they could at least save the baby, but by the time he'd found his wife, she'd already been without any blood circulation for at least 30 minutes, if not more. There was nothing they could do for the baby."

Everyone fell silent for a few moments, weighed down by the particular tragedy of two lives lost, one of which had never even gotten the chance to live. Kate felt like crying, had to swallow hard around the knot in her throat.

"The wound appears to be from a nine-millimeter bullet," the medical examiner continued her report. "Could possibly match the .38 revolver found on the scene, but we'll only know once ballistics comes back."

"It's a Smith & Wesson 638." Esposito clarified, walking closer with the gun in an evidence bag. "Very popular revolver for self-defense, especially among women. Husband confirms the weapon did belong to his wife." The pale pink plastic handle of this particular model indicated that this was most likely true.

"We'll get it to the lab for prints, but there are smears along the metal so it may have been wiped down."

"What else?"

"No signs of forced entry. Looks like the vic let in whoever killed her, or the person had a key."

"She knew her attacker," Castle added soberly. "Well enough to be comfortable letting him or her into her home dressed in just a robe."

"CSU is dusting everything for prints," Esposito continued, "but the couple held a lot of parties, and they had staff going in and out, a cleaning lady, catering crew and waiters, so the chance that anything is going to crystalize is pretty slim."

"Okay." Kate nodded, gathered her wits, still fighting with the nausea roiling at the bottom of her esophagus. "Looks like we're just about done here. Espo, Ryan, dispatch unis to canvass the neighbors and some of the adjoining floors, check if anyone heard or saw anything unusual. Get a statement from the security guard in the lobby. And bring the husband down for questioning. This one is going to get extra scrutiny so we need to be above board with every step." The guys nodded, Ryan scribbling down notes.

"I need to talk to the press, and then Castle and I will meet with the parents. Lanie?" The medical examiner looked up from where she was bent over the victim.

"Call me the moment you have anything. This family has connections to everyone; we're gonna get raked over the coals if this investigation drags."

"Will do."

On their way out, Castle pulled her to the side in the hallway, away from all prying eyes. Kate slumped against him immediately. She pressed her face to his sternum, breathing him in, his familiar musky scent, the hint of aftershave, his warmth. He didn't say anything, didn't need to; he'd seen it too, and she knew he understood what it did to her, how it hit both of them.

So he just held her for a few moments, his arms bracketed around her shoulder blades and her waist, pressing her to him, until she'd gathered her strength, felt fortified to walk outside and face the press corps already waiting on the sidewalk, with their microphones pointed, their storm of camera flashes, their shouted questions.


Luciano DeLuca was, quite objectively, a stunning man. No wonder he'd become an actor, Ryan thought to himself as he and Esposito settled in across the table from the man seated in Interrogation One. The only surprise was that he wasn't more successful, with those looks. 6'3" tall with a slim physique that appeared toned in all the right places, jet-black hair and dark, brooding eyes, the chiseled features and cut jaw line rivaling the likes of Brad Pitt.

He sat stooped in his chair, forearms resting on the tabletop, ceaselessly kneading his fingers. The detectives had let him get washed up and change his clothes, had unis bag them as evidence, before bringing him back to the precinct. Ryan could still see the remnants of dried blood caked beneath his fingernails.

"Okay, walk us through your morning, Mr. DeLuca."

"I got up around six-thirty or so, I put on my running clothes…" He swallowed, his Adam's apple jumping in his throat while he kneaded his knuckles. "Had some coffee… Vicky was still asleep when I left for my run-"

"Was this the last time you saw your wife alive?"

He nodded, tears brimming in his eyes. "I didn't even kiss her goodbye today. I didn't wanna wake her, she needed her sleep…" He sniffed.

"When did you leave your apartment?"

"'Round quarter to seven. Maybe a little later? I don't know for sure."

"Okay. So you went for a run-?" Esposito prodded DeLuca into continuing. The man nodded.

"I went over to Central Park, ran for about an hour, then came back home."

"If you left the apartment at six forty-five and ran for an hour, what took you so long to get home? According to the 911 call log…" Ryan flipped back a page on his notes, reading from his notes, "you placed the call for an ambulance at eight twenty-eight this morning. That leaves a good 40 minutes unaccounted for."

The man's eyebrows knit. "Might've ran a little longer. I always walk for a while after a run, five minutes, maybe ten, get my heart-rate down. Then I stopped by Bel Ami's over on 68th. It used to be café au lait I brought home for her-" A wistful smile played on his lips. "Now it was a pain au chocolat, and a Moroccan mint tea each time. You know, because of- the baby." His voice gave out at the end, turned into a croaked whisper, and Ryan thought that the man was either an incredible actor, or truly stricken. He was hitting all the right notes to pluck at the heartstrings. Ryan felt dismayed at his own cynicism.

"Can anyone corroborate your whereabouts? Did you meet anyone during your run? Speak to anybody?"

Luciano DeLuca shook his head. "No. I had headphones in. Lobby security could've seen me, I guess. Maybe the guy at the coffee shop? I think the receipt's still in my wallet."

Ryan took some notes, noticed from the corner of his eyes that Javi was sitting back in his seat, arms folded and chest puffed, assessing DeLuca wordlessly. Letting the silence hang, its weight heavy like an anvil. The trick worked almost every time.

"Look, detectives," DeLuca leaned forward and directed pleading, nearly indignant eyes at them. "I know what this looks like, okay? Here I am, a nobody, a second-rate actor at best, married to this beautiful, successful rich girl. I must've been in it for the money, right?"

Neither Ryan nor Espo acknowledged the veracity of the claim.

"But it wasn't like that," DeLuca continued. "It was never like that. She's-" He stopped himself, swallowed hard. "Was the most incredible, the kindest person I have ever met. She didn't care that I didn't have any money, or that my plays were abysmal most of the time. She said she wanted me to get to live my dream, and what was all that money good for if not to make life easy for those she loved?"

He smiled through a sheen of tears. "She was… my most ardent fan. And I loved her. And our baby. We were… so ecstatic. Six hours ago my life was perfect and now-" Luciano DeLuca hung his head, his whole body deflating in the chair across the table, silent tears running down his cheeks.


Beckett felt more than saw Castle appear behind her as she added one more point to the still sparse murder board. His hand briefly caressed across her lower back, the touch unnoticeable to anyone else yet its tenderness like a balm over her spine. He handed her a mug of coffee.

"Thought you might need this."

Kate gratefully reached for it, inhaled its scent.

"From the secret stash of decaf," Rick whispered, winking at her.

"Better than nothing." She took a sip, let the warmth of the liquid unfurl in her stomach. Dealing with the press was never a pleasant experience, particularly when she lacked any solid information to give out, and then she'd had to tell the parents that their only daughter was dead before they heard it on the news. She felt drained already, and it wasn't even noon yet.

"Alright," she addressed Ryan, Esposito, and Vikram once everyone had gathered around them, forming a semicircle around the murder board. "Fill me in."

"Husband's alibi is weak at best." Esposito began outlining the information they'd gathered during the interview. "Says he left the apartment when the victim was still asleep, went for a run and to a coffee shop. Found her dead when he returned home a little before eight-thirty a.m. No witnesses so far that could corroborate his statement."

"He did have a receipt from the coffee shop he went to," Ryan interjected, turning toward them from where he'd been adding points to the timeline. "But the timestamp of the transaction is eight-ten, which is after our window of death."

"Bel Ami's is a block from the building," Espo added. "He would've had enough time to kill her, go to the coffee shop to solidify his alibi, and come back to 'find' her," he added air quotes, "when he did and call 911."

Ryan flipped to the next page on his note pad. "The security guard we interviewed earlier confirms that she saw DeLuca come back around or after eight-fifteen, to the best of her recollection. Problem is her shift only started at eight, and we've not yet been able to reach the night guard who was on duty before that. No sign-ins into the visitors' log between six and eight either."

"And we can't access any of the building security footage without a warrant," Vikram added. "Seems the super-rich fancy their privacy, even with a murder happening right under their noses."

"What'd his motive be, though?" Kate questioned, eyeing the bare bones listed on their timeline. "Money?"

"Seems weak," Castle nodded. "Looks like he'd have access to much more of that with her alive."

"Yeah, he had a sugar momma." Espo snickered, and Kate glared at both of them.

"I mean, cynically speaking," Castle added.

"I pulled his bank statements." Vikram handed her several sheets of paper. "Not much in there. He had some income, inconsistent at best. Doesn't look like he contributed much financially to their daily lifestyle - no outgoing payments for rent, insurances, utilities - but what little he had he appears to have spent on her."

Castle glanced over her shoulder, reading from the top page. "Almost daily charge at Bel Ami's…"

"That's the same coffee shop," Ryan confirmed.

"Edon Manor, Bergdorf Goodman, Sephora, Pottery Barn Kids, Piccolini,..."

"Okay, so what else?" Kate prompted her detectives to go on. She could hear the desk phone ringing in her office, had the gnawing sense that she was already being hunted down for updates on the case, by the D.A., the Commissioner, 1PP, who knew. She leaned against the desk behind her, instantly felt the relief from the strain to her lower back.

"'Kay, so the husband didn't know of any problems the victim might've had with anyone." Espo ticked off the additional details. "No recent fights, no financial concerns, no known enemies. Says everybody just loved her."

"Matches what the parents told us," Kate looked over at Castle who nodded his agreement. "They weren't aware that she'd been having any struggles. She was just… content. Kind to everyone. Happy."

"She sounds too good to be real. What'd they say about the husband?"

"Well they weren't too fond of their daughter's choice, at first, but her mother claims that once she saw how much she loved him, and how well DeLuca treated their daughter, they somewhat begrudgingly accepted him into the family."

"DeLuca did say that his wife went out for dinner with her best friend last night, a Claudia Lombard. He'd had a performance at Gene Frankel Theater over on Bond Street, and when he came home she seemed a little upset, or concerned about something, but she didn't want to talk about it."

"Alright," Kate rose from her perch against the desk, directing her team. "Go talk to the victim's friend." Ryan and Esposito moved toward their desks, grabbing their coats.

"And Vikram, see if you can get any street cam footage from outside the building. And stay on them about those security tapes." She turned to Castle. "You should go with them. I need to call 1PP, and then I have a phone conference about next year's budget."

"Will you be okay?" He eyed her, concern turning his eyes a darker shade of blue, and she wanted to press herself against his chest, feel the reassuring beat of his heart.

"Yeah, yeah I'll be fine," she said instead. "Really."

"Okay." He leaned in, pressed a quick kiss to her cheekbone. "I'll see you later."

He joined the two detectives who were waiting for him, while she turned to head to her office.

"And don't forget to eat lunch!" Castle called out to her on his way to the elevator, loud enough that the rest of the bullpen turned, staring at them both. She rolled her eyes, yet she knew she couldn't keep the affection off her face.

"I won't."

Ryan and Espo stared at him.

"What? Just watching over my wife."

"Come on, let's go." Espo rolled his eyes, shouldering Castle as they walked and muttering "Whipped," his voice carrying loud enough that pretty much everyone within a half-mile radius could've heard it. A few snickers reverberated through the bullpen.

"Hey!" Her husband's voice, a little indignant. "I heard that!"